


You Were Right.

by CynicalKing



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dreams POV, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Georges POV, Hunter Dream, M/M, Minecraft Manhunt, ive never written on ao3 before so pls bear with me, no beta we die like men, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalKing/pseuds/CynicalKing
Summary: He was a freeman now. Out of the grasp of the king and not longer in the Nether, he was on the road to a better life. Somewhere he could love who he wanted to love and not be killed. All these thoughts soothed his brain, really helped him to relax.“Easy.” He breathed out.“Wrong.” A low, teasing voice chimed.Immediately George whipped around. To his disliking and pain he was met with the dull end of an axe being smashed into his face.The force of the blow caused him to fall to the ground. He fell straight on his ass, only his elbows perching him up.“What the hell man?” He bit harshly, finally looking up to who attacked him.There, towering above him stood a man. Axe outstretched inches away from George's face. The man wore high leather boots with the king’s crest, black jeans, yellow cloak with the king’s crest, bow and arrow slung around his shoulder with the king’s crest, a necklace with the king’s crest--A smiley faced mask.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 329





	1. Hell.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mel/gifts).



> Like always if the CCs used in this story are uncomfortable with it im more than happy to take it down upon request.
> 
> As a heads up, through out this entire story there WILL be homophobic implications and slurs. Me, King, i am in the LGBT community. I am literally a gay man. I will only be using slurs I can reclaim. The Co-Author of this story is also lgbt, they're a bi icon. So don't panic thinking some 13 year old straight girl with a gay fetish is writing the word f*g
> 
> Enjoy <3  
> -  
> CW:// Mild violence, mild claustrophobia, hinting abt parental death, queer prejudice.

Hell  
It truly is the worst place to live. 

No one chooses to live here-- and if they do choose, they must be a psychopath. The air is constantly hot and muggy. If you weren’t used to it, it would burn your lungs with every breath. You’d think because of all the bubbling lava he'd be glowing with warmth and light when looking at him. But because there is no sun, he is sickly pale. Oh how he dreamt of what sunlight feels like against his skin.

It's the worst kingdom out of all of them all.  
The Nether Kingdom.  
Also known as Hell.  
No one is happy here other than the rich.  
He wasn’t rich.  
He wasn’t happy.

George doesn't recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, he hasnt for months. He stands lifelessly in the bathroom. Only in his boxers and sleep shirt which hangs loosely from his shoulders. Dark brown eyes stare back amid his reflection. He looks tired. But for the first time in a long time he has something worth waking up for. 

These past few months have been hard for him, harder than they ever have been. Internal turmoil and dangerous thoughts began to plague his mind. At first he was able to cast them aside, ignore them. But days turned into weeks he still couldn’t shake what his brain was feeding him. 

Like anything, it started off harmless. A glance to a stranger walking by, his stomach twisting as he makes accidental contact with his friend’s hands, nothing too alarming. It was all harmless. But “harmless” glances turned into stares. “Harmless” hand brushing turned into a yearning to hold his han--

His hand.

_His._

That was the problem. That's what kept him up late at night. These thoughts. These feelings. For a boy?

“My god.” George mumbled to himself, dragging his hand down his face.

Knowing his luck, ofcorse he was gay. He was gay in the only kingdom that had every queer person killed. It was ingrained into his mind at a young age that gay was bad, and he believed it for awhile. But even before he was having these feelings, he came to his own conclusion that the world wasn’t going to fall apart if a boy kissed a boy. Or if a girl kissed a girl. Or if someone realized they were transgender-- It was okay for him.

But not this kingdom.

Leaving the Nether was hard, really hard. It's basically impossible to move to a new kingdom. But George had his mind set on it. For weeks upon weeks he'd been tugging at his hair thinking of different ways to escape. Though each one of his plans had a flaw, and every flaw ultimately led to his death. Only one of his plans stood a chance of leading him to a new life-- but that was if he didn’t fuck it up. 

The plan went like this:

In this kingdom, you must have utmost loyalty to the king. Everything you do is for the king.

George is a smart boy, always has been. If he sends a letter to the king asking for permission to leave to study abroad as a blacksmith in a nearby village, he’d probably get a yes. He'd learn techniques they might not know in the Nether, along with the fact he'd be building weapons for the king. The only thing that’ll need to happen is after his work the village must be burned. In the king's mind no one else can share the same knowledge. If they did they’d be able to match his strength and possibly over take his kingdom. So his solution:

Kill anyone or thing that knew what he knew.

Therefore after someone studies abroad that village poses a threat and must be burned.

If George gets a yes on his letter he will be able to leave the Nether immediately. Once entering the main portal to leave, he’ll be faced with about twelve more portals. Each portal being a gateway to the separate biomes. All he has to do from there is enter a portal different from the biome he said he was going to-- and then he would run. He’d run far, far away. He’d be free.

That's if everything goes according to plan.  
If not, he’d be hunted down.  
Hunted down by Dream.

George tried not to think about it much, as the thought of having the kingdom's most blood lusty killer after him was terrifying. He's heard folk stories about him before. A man in a green cloak with his weapons all bearing the king's crest. The most sickening thing was how he wore a smiley faced mask. Quite disturbing if you asked him-- the mask? Just the thought of having such a lifeless looking smile towering over George trying to kill him was bone chilling. It often kept him up at night. Gazing mindlessly at his ceiling as his brain worked around the thought of being hunted down. He had to make sure his plan worked. 

And today was the day he’d get his letter reply.

That's why today is worth waking up for.

After facing himself in the bathroom for far too long, George got on with his normal morning routine. Brushing his teeth, combing his hair, the usual. He tugged his shirt off from over his shoulders whilst he made his way into his bedroom. His house had two rooms. His bedroom and his bathroom. It was considered a real luxury for most living in the Nether.

There was no real thought put into what he was gonna wear, he wore the same thing everyday. Everyone did. No one had enough money for more than one outfit. 

Black jeans, a grey shirt, boots, and a gold helmet. That was the fit. He wore the gold helmet because that was the only way to avoid the Piglin from attacking you. Surprisingly, gold was a very accessible material. So despite being broke he was able to afford a helmet and a sword.

George looked around his room briefly, making sure anything valuable was tucked away outta sight. Piglins had a nasty habit of snooping through others things. Once he confirmed that everything was hidden away, he left. 

Villages in hell looked similar to what villages in the overworld looked like, or so he’s been told. George’s village was in the crimson forest. It was very small and run down, though every village looked like that. Walls made out of wooden logs, crumbly soil keeping the wood together, roofs that were barely able to stay up. Yup, this was home. As he left his neighbors all stared at him, their skin just as pale and sickly as his. Despite the fact no one necessarily liked each other, they all coexisted in order to survive. That's just what you had to do in Hell, survive.

There were no distinct paths to walk on. One either chose to walk through narrow tunnels that had been carved into the rotting walls or dared to walk through the forest and plains. 

George's dad had taught him all about the tunnels at a very young age. His dad knew almost every tunnel that has been created. That was due to the fact he was one of the miners who dedicated their time to re-carving them. It was a dangerous job with a low income but his dad had no choice. He had to provide for his family somehow.

George always wished he retired sooner.

Maybe then he’d be here.

He personally never went exploring. He didn’t know where most of the tunnels lead to. He just followed the ones his dad taught him about until he reached the castle. 

The tunnels were tight and stuffy. Not good for those who get anxious in tight spaces. The uneven ground made it hard for him to walk, but he managed. Eventually the tunnel grew wider and its mouth opened into a vast clearing. There in front of him, built over a lava lake, was the King’s Castle.

Great iron gates loomed over him as he approached slowly. Behind the gates there was a long basalt bridge that led right up to the grand wooden doors of the castle. The building itself was so tall it stretched all the way to the ceiling. It was made out of blackstone, gilded blackstone, and polished basalt. There were some parts that were crumbly and worn down but the random gold accents were able to distract from it. Piglin stood guard all over the castle. At the front doors, on the roof, in watch towers, they surveyed every inch of the place. All wielded the same wooden crossbow and wearing the same gold armor they stood tall to protect their King.

It wasn’t pretty, but it was the most breathtaking building George had ever seen. 

Too bad the king was a dick. 

“What are you ‘ere for?” A Piglin huffed.

The sudden voice caused George's head to whip around, taking his eyes off the castle. He didn't even see him there. But by his more formal looking attire he knew he was one of the king's messenger pigs.

“I'm picking up a letter reply,” George said simply. After living here for his entire life he learnt not to chat with the Piglin. Not fun individuals to talk to. “From the king.”

“The King eh?” The pig faced man hummed, raising an eyebrow at George.

“Yes.”

After staring George down for an uncomfortable amount of time. He asked,

“Davidson?” 

George nodded. That was his last name.

Slowly he pulled a letter out of his pocket. It was all crumpled and greasy. George grimaced. 

“ ‘Ere you go.”

Once the letter was in his possession he waited until he was in the tunnels to read it. His hands shook with anticipation as he frantically opened the letter. Trying to ignore all the grease now on his hands his eyes skipped over the words. 

_Blah blah blah George Davidson, blah blah blah study as black smith in the desert, blah blah blah The kings has granted him with the permission to leave._

George blinked for a second. As if each time he closed and opened his eyes the letters on the page would rearrange themselves. But they didn't.

His mouth was agape like a fish. He could barely contain his excitement as he pumped his fits in the air. He danced a stupid dance before he ran all the way home. His legs had never moved this fast in his entire life, but there was a bounce and a leap in his steps.

He was free.

_He was free._

It didn't take long for him to reach his neighborhood. All his neighbors cursed at him for running. Once he reached his house he quickly slipped inside and packed his bag. He didn't have a lot of stuff considering the fact he was quite poor. All he packed was some food, water, a blanket, the little money he had, and a photo of his family. That's all he needed. He also strapped his belt to his waist which held the only weapon he had, his gold sword.

He didn't bother looking around his house this time, there was nothing there of importance.

Nothing of importance.

Nothing.

Running out of his village he crawled back into the tunnels. In most of the tunnels, the ones that were used more often, he could stand at full height. That was because the walls were often re-carved. Netherwart regrows like fungus and the tunnels will close if not attended to. The tunnel that led him to the main portal was small and not many people used it. He has to duck his head and be mindful of his footing or else he’d fall. 

Though soon he found himself crawling out from the black suffocating walls. Ahead of him stood a steep netherbrick staircase that he was practically flying up. His heart racing in his chest. He was so close to being free. Just two nauseating portal tips and he was done.

“Permission slip?” The portal guard asked as he approached. It was just another Piglin.

“Here, right here” George said breathlessly. He fumbled with the letter, hands shaking as he pulled it from his pocket. “Right there, the King said I could go”

He pointed to the bottom of his letter where it states he was allowed to pass. With greasy hooved hands the Piglin grabbed the letter from him.

“Kings letting a lot of people through now days, huh?” The pig questioned, looking the letter over.

He didnt know how to respond. He didnt know if it was some type of trick question or casual conversation so he simply shrugged.

“You’re studying to become a blacksmith in the desert?”

“Yes.” George stated. He shifted his weight between his feet. Why was this taking so long? Could the Piglin tell he was up to something? Anxiety started to take control of his thoughts and his heart began to race.

Just a little longer. He thought to himself.

The Piglin reread the letter accouple of times before turning his eyes to George.

“Alright, go. Leave.” He huffed.

Without hesitation George took the letter back and stepped towards the portal. He reached his hand in first, swirling his fingers around in the blue mist that would soon teleport him. It felt weird. It was a sensation he couldnt quite describe. If he had to put any words to it it would be tingly. He continued to play with the mist. His mind was fully entranced with the tingly feeling was that he barely noticed when the guard began huffing at him.

“You gonna go or what?” The guard bit.

George just blinked at him before turning his head back to the gurgling portal.

 _Deep breaths._ He told himself.

Taking in a long breath, he stepped it. Immediately he was taken aback at how oddly cold it was. He never once in his life felt this type of coldness (he did live in hell after all). Within seconds his head was spinning like crazy and he felt sick to his stomach. Screwing his eyes shut he focused all his thoughts on not throwing up.

 _It’ll be over soon._ He kept telling himself. But his stomach grew weaker and weaker with every second.

“Hey! Common get out.” A bitter voice lashed at him.

Confusedly he peaked one eye open. He had teleported.

“Dude, step outta the portal. You’re gonna get portal sickness.”

 _Oh thank god._ He thought to himself as he frantically stepped out. He placed his hands on his knees and focused all his thoughts on keeping whatever was in his stomach inside him.

“My bad.” He replied dryly.

“Gonna puke?” The person asked.

“No.” 

He took a moment to himself. Taking in deep breaths. Though once he was able to regather he looked over to where the voice was coming from. instead of a Piglin he saw a woman. She had pale skin like him and black hair. She was probably working service off a jail sentencing. Only Piglins have these jobs.

“Where to then?” She asked.

“Plains biome.” He lied. He lied straight to his teeth. Originally he said he was leaving for the desert. Oh how he hoped the border guard didn’t somehow tell her where he was actually going.

She studied him for a while before nodding toward a portal on her right. Without saying anything other than a small ‘thank you’ he walked straight to it.

_Freedom._

This time stepping through wasn’t as bad. He made sure to hold his breath this time and keep his eyes open. After a few god awful seconds of spinning he leapt out of the portal, falling to his hand and knees.

“God I hate using portals.” He huffed loudly.

Though everything around him was quiet and calm, the only thing offering response was the wind. Looking up he was greeted with the sun smiling down at him, soft yellow grass tickling his palms, and a blue sky stretching vastly for miles. 

George wasn't an emotional person, but right now he could cry. And he did. 

The air was so gentle on his lungs and the sun warmed his pale cheeks. It was amazing. It was more than anything he could have hoped for.

He picked himself up and took a few steps away from the portal. He scanned his surroundings, taking it all in. Making sure his brain remembered every detail of this feeling. It was so different. It was beautiful. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.

It was noon when he arrived. He didn’t start his walk in the forest until one pm. He was too entranced in rolling around in the grass and climbing a nearby tree to munch on an apple. 

Though by then the Piglin had already searched his house. Greedy bastards they are.

They found it suspicious how he had no books about blacksmiths yet held an interest about them. 

They also found a small notebook in the trash where he seemed to have written his thoughts.

A small book with something important written in it. 

Something important.

It wasn’t long until they had told the king what they had found. It wasn't long until the king had sent him out.

It was about two hours into his journey when George began to hear the sound of distant footsteps. Truth be told, it unnerved him. But every time he looked over his shoulder he saw nothing other than oak trees. Being in a new environment was unsettling, he didn't know the people or what type of mobs were here. Nor did he recognize any sounds the forest made. So he gave himself the benefit of the doubt. He told himself he was safe and it was just his anxiety. Though despite his efforts to remain calm, fear kept creeping its way into his mind. He held a firm grip on his sword and kept walking. 

He was a freeman now. On his own deciding his own future. As he walked he dreamt of what his life would be. He tried imaging what his future boyfriend would look like. He never had a boyfriend or really developed a full crush on a boy to know what his type was. Though he liked blonde hair. He’s seen it once before-- it was a boy from another kingdom who was visiting only for a second to drop something off. George loved how much it contrasted from everything else in the Nether. 

No one has blonde hair in Hell. Everyone down there shares the same dark hair, dark eyes, and sickly sun deprived looking skin. If someone has blonde hair that means they were either from the overworld or their parents were from the overworld. And for the King anything from the overworld was a big no. They were usually executed.

He continued to question his future. What was his house going to look like? Will he have any pets? If so what animal? All these thoughts soothed his brain, really helped him to relax.

“Easy.” He breathed out.

 _“Wrong.”_ A low, teasing voice chimed.

Immediately George whipped around. To his disliking and pain he was met with the dull end of an axe being smashed into his face. 

“Fuck!” He yelped.

Nothing broke, but he felt the gush of warm blood drip from his nose to his chin. His own blood seeped past his lips into his mouth. Disgusting.

The force of the blow caused him to fall to the ground. He fell straight on his ass, only his elbows perching him up.

“What the hell man?” He bit harshly, finally looking up to who attacked him. 

There, towering above him stood a man. Axe outstretched inches away from George's face. The man wore high leather boots with the king’s crest, black jeans, yellow cloak with the king’s crest, bow and arrow slung around his shoulder with the king’s crest, a necklace with the king’s crest--

A smiley faced mask.

_Dream._

Stumbling frantically George tried to stand up, but he was met with the weight of the Dreams body crushing his own. He was sitting squarely on his torso. He was heavy, but it was clear at how his hands effortlessly pinned Georges flailing arms down by his head that he was strong. Very strong.

Never in his life has he felt fear like this. His heart was slamming in his chest and he could hear his blood roaring in his ears. Anxiety took over every nerve, every muscle, and every thought he had. All he could do was let out voiceless screams as terror rained over him. 

And as he panicked and feared for his life, that blank smile gazed down back at him. Emotionless.

He was going to die.


	2. Dreams Hell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _From a very young age he excelled in physical combat. The King always took pride in him for that. He was barely even seventeen when he was sent out for his first manhunt. Ever since he’s been addicted to the chase. There was something about the way people begged for mercy that got his blood rushing. Watching them run until their legs collapse, hearing their cries and pleas, seeing the fear on their faces, it made him feel alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING//:  
> Physical violence and queer prejudice.

His days went like this. 

Wake up,  
Train,  
Sleep.

To any other sane human living life like that would seem like a nightmare. Doing the same thing everyday on repeat. But to him, it was satisfactory in a way. From a very young age he excelled in physical combat. The King always took pride in him for that. He was barely even seventeen when he was sent out for his first manhunt. Ever since he’s been addicted to the chase.

There was something about the way people begged for mercy that got his blood rushing. Watching them run until their legs collapse, hearing their cries and pleas, seeing the fear on their faces, it made him feel alive. 

Despite the fact he loved living here, Hell, there wasn’t much to do. That's why he trained all the time. It gave him something to do and helped calm his hunger to hunt. 

The wood of Dream’s bed groaned as he sat up. It was barely six in the morning when he began to stir. Still half awake, he ran his fingers slowly through his hair. 

“I need a haircut.” He mumbled to himself, his voice heavy with sleep. His hair wasn't too long, mainly just fluffy. It fell just a little below his ears. He liked how it looked this long, it was just harder to hide under a hood. 

Slowly but surely he stood up and made his way to the bathroom. Once inside he chuckled upon seeing his appearance in the mirror. His hair was sticking up in every direction and there was a flat spot on his left side from how he slept. He always had the worst morning hair. 

As he began to brush his teeth he locked eyes with himself in the mirror. He always questioned why he looked so different from those in the Nether. He didn't share the same sick skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. His hair was ashy blonde, his skin was tan with freckles peppered all over, and he had vibrant green eyes. So green that they looked like they could glow in the grimey darkness of hell. He stood out like a sore thumb against everyone.

He didn't necessarily hate how he looked. In fact, he thought he was quite handsome. He stood at a towering 6’2 and was pretty in shape. But despite his appearance the King always made him cover up.

As far as parental figures go, the King was the only one he had. But in all honesty he wouldn't really call him a “parent.” More of the man who raised him. It never bothered Dream that he didn’t have a mom or dad. The King told him from a very young age that he never had parents, and he came from nothing. So as far as he was concerned that was the truth. 

The King made sure to raise Dream to be tough, he wasn’t gonna have a weakling living in his castle. To his liking it wasn't that hard to do. He only rarely raised his voice or fist. From the start Dream was able to pick up all types of skills. Hand to hand combat, climbing, outdoor survival, anything needed to know to become the perfect huntsman. 

But despite all his skills, the King never looked him in the eyes. He’d always get irritated and ill-tempered towards Dream if he ever took off his hood or mask in public. It always confused him but he learned not to question the King.

Dream was lost in thought when he heard a knock at his door.

“What do you want?” He snapped. 

“The King called for you, Dr. Dre.” A Piglin called through the door.

Dream silently laughed to himself. Because he was the Kings protege, the Piglin were forced to listen to everything he said and respect him. If any of them defined him or stood him up they’d be forced to duel against him. Which none of them did. They all knew Dream would beat their asses.

Around the age of fourteen he realized he could ask to be called whatever name he wanted. He definitely has had fun with that over the years. Some of his personal favorites were Dr. Dre, Delta Ninja, I'm a Pissbaby, and his top favorite, Meatloaf.

“I’ll be out in a sec.” He called back.

With that he spat out any toothpaste in his mouth and walked to his closet. He had a few different jackets to choose from. All the same green color but in different styles. Though he always stuck with the same green cloak. He felt like a cloak offered him more movement opposed to a jacket. 

The base of his outfit consisted of black jeans, a turtleneck, and knee high hunter boots. He always overheated in the turtleneck, but he needed to cover as much of his skin as possible. Couldn’t risk anyone seeing what he looked like. After adjusting his shirt, he pulled his cloak over his shoulders and tugged the hood up. All he needed was his mask.

It took him a moment to find it as he never places it in the same spot. But once in his possession he tucked all his hair back into his hood and clasped the mask to his face. He never really questioned how it just seemed to magically attach to his face. In the depths of his memory he could recall hearing the King mention something about ‘Cure of Binding.’ But at the end of the night he doesn't question the King. All he knows is the mask was a gift from him, that's it.

“God, you don't need to wait out here like a little guard dog,” He glared at the Piglin as opened his bedroom door. “Or should i say guard pig?”

The Piglin was not amused. 

“The King has been waiting for you, I'm a Pissbaby.” The pig said bitterly.

Dream suppressed a laugh. How could he not laugh at something like that? He merely nodded in response. Without waiting for a reply he began walking down the hall. His room was in the basement of the castle. He used to have a room on the top floor next to the King, but as he grew older the heat of the Nether grew unbearable to him. All he had to do was ask once and the entire basement of the castle was renovated into a proper living space for him. It was much cooler down there, plus it was an entire area just for him.

Since the castle was huge, it took him climbing a few flights of stairs and walking down long corridors to finally reach the King's throne room.

It was by far the biggest room in the entire castle. The ceilings stretched higher than any other roof he’s ever seen. It was decorated with velvet drapes, gold accents, and hand painted murals. Scattered here and there were trophies and prized possessions in glass display cases, each artifact placed gently on a plush pillow. They were the King’s from when he used to fight in wars or death battles. From the crown of a monarch to a trophy from most blood thirsty, he had it all. In the center of the room on a high pedestal sat his throne. Like everything else in the room it was stupidly big and covered in gold. Next to it was a significantly smaller seat made of obsidian, Dream’s seat.

“Yo.” Dream said casually as he entered. 

“Good morning.” The King responded coolly.

There on the throne he sat. He was a big man, about seven foot. His shoulders were wider than a dessert plate and he had arms strong enough to crack a skull. His skin was pink and thick like leather, but it was uncomfortably greasy. He was covered in scars, the most distinguishable was one that cut through the right side of his bottom lip, it was basically split apart. It made his huge tusk-like yellow k-9 teeth stick out even more than they already do. He had barely any hair on his head, but lucky for him his oversized crown hid that.

He looked a lot like the other Piglin, same facial structure and worn skin.

Just uglier. 

“What's the plan for the day? You don't normally call me up unless we got shit going on.” Dream walked up to the throne and plopped down into his own obsidian seat. It was cool against his back.

The king scowled at him for swearing.

“We have a whole lot of people leaving through the portal today, one of ‘em bound to try ‘n pull something.” The King said slowly. His gaze shifted to at Dream.

Dream sat upright in his chair, suddenly more attentive than before. Immediately knew what he meant. 

_Finally._ He thought to himself. 

There's bound to be a hunt today. Just the thought of it got him excited.

“Be on alert. When I call for you I want you to come immediately.” Despite the fact the King was also a Piglin, his voice was smoother and more leveled than the others. 

“Go.” He was dismissed. 

Dream leapt out of his chair and nodded.

“I’ll be ready.” Excitement was clearly taking home in Dreams' tone. 

He's been itching for a chase for months now and there's been zero activity at all. He's been so bored that sometimes he's resorted to randomly chasing the Piglin. Not as fun because he couldn’t kill them, but still fun because he liked how they squealed. 

Hastily he ran back down to the basement. Instead of going to his bedroom he went straight to the armory. The room was quite large, large enough to host an entire axe throwing range, archery range, and a few weight lifts. It was the home and resting place for all his beloved weapons. They were still laid out on an old oak table in the exact position he left them in a few months ago.

“Hello beautiful,” He purred. 

Ever so carefully, he picked up his most prized possession. He spent months slaving over it, trying to find all the right materials he wanted it to be made of. He even took the time to read a few books on how to craft it properly; and he hates reading. 

There in his hands he held the first ever Netherite Axe. The smooth wood of the handle felt therapeutic to his calloused hands. In the past his other axes have given him cuts and splinters, so he made sure this one wouldn't. 

“Oh how I missed you.” He said softly as if the axe we’re a child. He scanned over the polished purple metal looking for imperfections, to his pleasure there weren’t any. 

Shifting his attention from the axe he looked to the rest of the weapons on the table. There laid a few different types of pocket knives, a bow and arrow, and a sword. Looking at these weapons brought him a sense of pride. He knew how to use each one to their most lethal potential. It just felt so-- so natural to him.

He thought for a moment on what wanted he’d do while he waited. Rocking back and forth on his heels he looked over the selection in front of him. He hoped if he stared at them long enough inspiration would hit him.

“Oh Im dumb.” He said out loud.

It's been awhile since he actually put effort into tending to his weapons. He never really relied on sharpness to do damage, the brute force he used inflicted enough. But to treat himself he decided to sharpen his tools. 

He grabbed a new sharpening stone from the closet and walked back to his desk. As he was standing there trying to figure out which tool to sharpen first a brush to his leg started him. Reflexively, he grabbed his axe and swung towards the creature.

“What the fuck?” He hissed, pointing the purpleish blade at it.

At the other end of the axe stood a cat all fluffed up. She hissed and backed up from the weapon, clearly not happy with the sudden startle. 

Dream immediately lowered it.

 _”Patches,”_ He groaned. “You scared me.”

In all honestly Dream had no clue how a cat ended up in Hell. His best guess was she accidentally wandered through the portal while the guards were changing shifts. He first saw her a few years ago when he was walking through the crimson forest and she stuck by him ever since. 

“Come here,” Reaching down he scooped her onto his lap. Naturally she tried to squirm away in protest but eventually gave in. To him, Patches was the only thing he truly cared about. She was the closest thing he had to a friend. Time passed with her company. After shifting around a bit on Dreams lap she rested her chin on her front paws, her tail swaying happily as she drifted off.

After petting her for a while, Dream began to start sharpening his weapons. He had many scars on his fingers from doing this when he was younger. He remembered once cutting himself so badly the King contemplated just cutting his finger off. Thank god he didn’t.

For the next few hours he fully immersed himself in his work. He sharpened all his blades, re-strung his bow, and touched up the feathers on his arrows. It was just busywork, but at least it gave him something to do. He was pulled out of his concentration around twelve-twenty when a Piglin knocked at his door.

“Delta Ninja, the King requests you in his throne room.” He announced.

“I’ll be there in a second.” Dream called back.

Setting whatever he was working with down, he tried to stand up. As he did he was met with the displeased meows of Patches.

“I love you Patches but you need to get off.” He said quickly. All he got in response was an ear twitch and another small mewl. 

“Patches please there could be a hunt.” He begged.

Slowly she looked up at him. With clear resentment, patches hopped off his lap. She stretched for a few seconds before walking off as if she didn't even know dream. She had an attitude like that.

“I genuinely want to know who you learned that sass from, my god.”

Hurriedly he fled out of the basement and ran towards the throne room. He _prayed_ that he was going to be told there was a hunt and he wasn’t just being called up to chat. It was odd how many times the King had done that, called him up to talk. His best guess was that the King got tired of talking to the other Piglin. After all, they weren’t fun individuals to talk to.

As soon as he approached the throne room, he swung the doors open. The force he used slammed the wood against the walls which caused a defining sound ring out.

“Tell me something good,” He panted out, a small smile curled upon his lips.

The King locked eyes with Dream. He wore a smug grin. He sat leaned back and crossed legged in his chair, his chin resting comfortably in the palm of his hand. In his other hand he held up a small notepad with messy handwriting.

George’s notepad.

_Fuck yeah. This is gonna be good._

“Earlier we had a boy leave for the desert to study.” He said slowly. It was clear he was trying to build anticipation by the large pause that sat heavily in the air.

“When looking in his house, the pigs found it quite odd how there were no books-- or any signs of interest about black smiths.” He began. “Don't you find that odd?”

Dream nodded eagerly. 

“They found this notepad in the trash, would you like to read?” He questioned. Leaning forward he out stretched his hand, offering Dream the notepad.

_Stupid question of corse I do._

Quickly he bound up the stairs to the King and took the notepad from him. 

His eyes scanned quickly over the words, reading it carefully. If he was being honest it was a bit hard to read the writing, but he understood what it was saying. Slowly he turned his gaze from the notepad to the King. 

“A queer, huh?” Dream said in a low voice.

The King nodded in response. A fiery passive anger in his dull black eyes.

“His name is George Davidson. About 5’9, brown hair, and brown eyes.” The King informed.

Dream passed the notepad back to him. From a young age he was taught that gay people were the scum of the earth. He questioned it once, but not for long. His conclusion was yes, they are scum. Every last one of those sick, disgusting bastards. Just the thought of them made his hands clench into fists.

“You know what to do. You have all the information you need.” He stood up as he spoke. Placing his heavy hand on Dream's shoulder, he looked him directly in the eyes. “Don't let me down.”

“I won't.” Dream assured.

The King smiled in satisfaction. “Good. We’re done here.”

Dream followed him out of the room. He always held his breath when walking behind the King. He'd never admit it out loud but he smelt like utter shit. Made his nose burn. 

They walked in the same path for a little but once they split Dream broke into a sprint. He was beyond excited for this chase. The calm composure he displayed around the King began to fizzle out as he ran further down the hall. 

“It's been so long!” He called out, laughing loudly to himself. “My god!”

In no time he was back into his storage room and there was no sign of Patches.

“I’m goin’ on a hunt, I’m goin’ on a hunt, todays gonna be good ‘cause I'm goin’ on a hunt.” He sang out to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he's been this excited to do anything. 

As if second nature got ready with all his weapons. Underneath his cloak he wore an iron chest plate and a brace on his left arm. He slung his bow around his shoulder and attached his quiver to his waist. He finished off with clipping two of the pocket knives to his belt and one on a holster on his thigh.

Just as he was about to leave he froze in his tracks.

“Necklace-- necklace where is it?” He looked around the room quickly. On the floor beneath the desk was a golden necklace with the Kings crest. Most of what he was wearing already had the crest on it, but the necklace was a simple touch he personally liked to add on.

Without waiting any longer he skipped through the halls and dashed outside the castle doors. He ran along the great bridge and swiftly through the red carved tunnels. Navigating the Nether was easy for him, he had zero troubles crawling through tight spaces or leaping over hot lava pools. In perspective, if it took a normal person ten minutes to get to a certain place Dream could do it in four. He's been doing it since he was young after all.

With no effort he slipped through the tunnel that led him to the main portal. As he went up the steps, the guard raised a brow at him.

“Where are you goin’ to in such a rush?” He questioned.

“I got a chase.” Dream responded flatly as he swung his axe over his shoulder. The sudden movement of the deadly weapon made the guard flinch. Everyone in Hell knew who Dream was and they all knew the damage he could inflict. Even if he was doing something he shouldn’t be, no one dared to stop him.

He didn’t wait for a response before stepping into the portal. He came and left as pleased since he was personnel with the king. Therefore the guards never questioned him when he left.

He was so used to stepping into the purple swirling mist he wasn't phased by the wave of dizziness and nausea that hit him. Besides, before he knew could even feel sick enough to vomit he was stepping out to the other side. 

He scanned the other portals around him. This is where things started getting interesting.

_He left Hell because he's gross and gay and wanted to escape. He said he was going to the desert which was probably a lie considering the fact if he did it’ll be much easier to-_

“You lost?”

Dream’s head snapped to the right, eyes locking on the woman who was watching over the portals.

“Brown hair, which portal did he go through?” He questioned.

The woman looked a bit taken back by his sudden question. She wasn’t expecting it, but she complied. She didn’t dare to question him.

“Uh, that one. To the plains.” She said, tilting her head to a portal on her right.

Dream didn't thank her when he left. He simply walked past her and into the portal.

_He shouldn't be too hard to find._

A part of why Dream loved being a huntsman was because to him, it was like a game. He loved figuring out bits and pieces of what he needed to know in order to find his victims. The more he analyzed the situation the more clear it became. It was like a puzzle.

Stepping out of the portal, he raised his arm to block out the sun that aggressively beamed down at him. It took him a while to adjust from the darkness of hell to the obnoxious brightness of the overworld.

It was about one-twenty when he arrived.

Looking around he began to study his surroundings. He noticed flattened grass here and there, some kicked up dirt under a tree, and a half eaten apple. On the surface these looked like random pieces of evidence, but to Dream it was a possible lead.

“Hello,” he murmured as he crouched down next to the apple. By the look of the teeth marks it definitely looked like a human ate this. He didn't know for sure if it was George, but it was a good start. Shifting he moved to lay on his stomach so he was eye level with the grass. Looking closely he tried to find anything that resembled a footprint. Since the grass was so lush anytime someone stepped on it it didn’t lose its form. That made looking for footprints a bit tricky. But sure enough after starring for long, he noticed a patch that was ever so slightly more compressed than the rest.

“Bingo.”

Jumping back up onto his feet he began to follow the direction of the footprints. When he reached the beginning of the forest he broke into a jog. If this lead failed and led him to the wrong person it wasn't the end of the world. He’d just look around for nearby villages or landmarks that look like an idiot would camp at. 

Though it wasn’t long before he started to make out a figure in the distance. Even if this wasn’t George, nothing would stop him from killing this person. Think of it as murder pregaming. As he approached closer and was able to make out their features, this person fix the exact description of George. 

This is where the fun began.

Effortlessly Dream hid behind trees and bushes to make sure he couldn't be seen. It definitely was George alright. The way he walked made him look guilty and skittish as if he were hiding something. The exact behavior as someone who just snuck out of Hell.

Every so often to test the other's flight or fight, he’d purposely snap a stick or loudly stomp his feet on the ground. To his satisfaction, every time he did the brunette turned and looked. His worried brown eyes scanned the trees behind him, but he never saw Dream. 

Normally by now his victims would start running due to fear and paranoia, George didn't. 

He was obviously anxious. That was apparent by the way his hands shook each time he wiped sweat from his forehead. All he had was a shitty gold helmet and sword to protect him.

 _So why aren’t you running?_ Dream thought to himself.

Without question Dream _knew_ he was gonna mess around with this boy. He was gonna drag this chase out for as long as he could. 

Casually he crept closer and closer to George, now two or three meters behind him. 

_God you’re so clearly scared shitless-- why aren’t you running? Are you stupid or something?_

At this point all he had to do was wait for the perfect moment to pounce.

“Easy.” He heard the boy sigh.

Dream clenched his axe tightly with both hands, his knuckles turning white. His heart was thumping in his chest, he was amazed how the other couldn't hear how loud it was. Adrenaline took control of all his thoughts and feelings. It was like a euphoric high. Every so carefully he moved so he was walking directly behind George. Raising his axe high he replied,

 _”Wrong.”_

In a swift motion he bashed the dull end of his axe into the other’s face. The satisfying sound of the cracking cartilage was music to his ear. And even better than that sound was the yelp he heard after.

“Fuck!”

Dream watched as the boy fell to the ground. Crimson blood dripping down his chin. 

Oh, how he loved the way blood flowed. When his victims bled that's how he knew he was doing a good job.

“What the hell man?” George cussed out.

It was this look that Dream adored the most. The helpless fear of George's brown eyes when he realized who just attacked him-it made Dream's body itch. He's seen this look so many times and each time it just gets better and better, he couldn't get enough of it. He wanted to kill George right here and now; but he held back. He knew if he were to hunt him for longer the kill would be more satisfactory.

Dreams shadow casted over George as he loomed over him, his axe stretched out directly towards his face

Just as quickly as Georges tried to stand up, Dream was stepping over him. He sat himself directly onto his chest and grabbed his flailing arms. With little to no effort he pinned them swiftly over his head. It was all too easy.

He locked eye contact with George, studying the fear in his face closely.

_This was gonna be fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a chapter reminder: I am a gay man writing this-- im not some straight girl writing slurs and homophobic shit
> 
> Anyways hope you enjoyed :D!!! feel free to leave any suggestions or comments-- i love reading them :)!
> 
> -King


	3. The case begins.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His heels throbbed with every step he took and his legs began to shake with exhaustion. At one point the fresh air he had breathed in felt like a luxury, but now since the sun has sunk under the horizon and the air is cold. Every sharp inhale he took felt like daggers pushing between his ribs and piercing in his lungs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:// They're just fighting a lot

_“You make this too easy.”_

How did this happen? Where did he go wrong? 

George frantically tried to decipher an answer, anything to understand what error he had made. What went wrong to cause him to be in this situation? A few seconds ago he was walking with a plan and a new future ahead of him. Now, George was trapped under Dream. Caught beneath the weight of the others’ body, hands pinned painfully down by his head. With a grip this tight he was able to feel the calluses on Dreams hands. He was unable to think straight, everything about the situation was so surreal. Death was towering above him in the form of a smiley faced mask and he couldn’t do anything about it.

All he was able to comprehend in his anxiety ridden mind was that he didn't want to die here, not like this. 

Not to Dream.

He attempted to shift his wrists in Dreams grasp, trying to test his wiggle room. To his demise that small shift made Dreams hold tighter, crushing Georges arms. An unwanted whine slipped from his lip, he could feel bruised begin to purple his skin.

“Trying to escape?” Dream asked. A disturbing tone of innocence hid in his words.

Even if he wanted to reply, his mind was completely focused on a way out of this mess. What could he do to get Dream off him?

_I can't push him off, I can't fight against him, I can't-_

_Oh..._

That's when George realized that Dreams’ arm was in perfect biting distance.

_No._

That was a stupid idea, really. A completely idiodic idea that should've never come to his mind. Only a fool would attempt something so stupid. He was smart enough to think of something better.

While George was lost in thought, Dream clearly wasn’t pleased by the lack of response.  
The mask stared down at him for a few seconds, leaving heavy silence sitting in the air between them. The only thing able to be heard was the faint chirping of birds in the trees.

“Well, if you don't want to speak that's alright.” Dream began, “But I'll make you if that's the case.”

“You’ll what?” George snapped out of though.

“How does that sound?”

Apparently, George was a fool.

He lunged to his left, leaning up as much as he could until his teeth made contact with Dreams forearm. He bit down as hard as his jaw would let him, not letting go as if he were a dog wrestling for a bone.

Naturally in reaction to the bite, Dream yanked his arm from Georges’ teeth. Cursing in response to the pain, he let go of George.

This was exactly the wiggle room he needed.

Without much coordination, George used his newly freed hand to shove Dream off him. In any other circumstance he'd be too weak to, but adrenaline aided his fight. 

“Get off!” He screeched out, surprising himself by the tone of his scream.

Without skipping a beat he picked himself up and began running. He didn’t know where was going to run, just anywhere away from Dream. 

-

When he began his escape from Dream the sun was high in the sky.

Now ahead of him through the brambles and vines of the jungle he saw it sinking in the horizon. 

He had no idea how he was able to run for this long. In any other circumstance by now he'd be heaving on the floor; but fear can make a human do just about anything. 

The mask's close taunts only fueled Georges’ speed. Every _”George!”_ or _”Come here!”_ willed him to run faster and faster.

This entire situation was-- well, weird. This chase has gone on for hours now. He _knew_ Dream could catch him if he wanted to, but it was like he was purposely staying three steps behind George. He always seemed to have caught up right when George thought he was finally free. Dream would tackle him to the ground, rough him up a bit, scare him shitless, and then let him go. The cycle of catch and release was draining on his emotions. Each catch he braced himself for death, each release he got his hope up on escaping. 

Dream was toying with him.

By now his heels throbbed with every step he took and his legs began to shake with exhaustion. At one point the fresh air he had breathed in felt like a luxury, but now since the sun has sunk under the horizon and the air is cold. Every sharp inhale he took felt like daggers pushing between his ribs and piercing in his lungs. 

He jumped over fallen trees and ducked under low branches, weaving in and out of the forest in a desperate attempt to shake Dream off his trail. He knew he couldn't keep running forever, but Dream was on him like a shadow.

“Please!” George's voice was raw from how many times he's tried warding Dream off. He hoped if he yelled louder someone would hear, but it only seemed to fuel into Dreams’ game.

Repeating the cycle, he heard Dream approach closer. His pleading taste of freedom turned bitter when he felt Dreams’ hands clasp around the fabric of his shirt.

“You got some fight in you. How many times has it been now? Five?” Dream chuckled. 

As if George was light as a feather he was thrown against a tree. With a loud thud and a small ‘oof’ his back hit the bark. Before he could regain himself he was met with the familiar smiley faced mask. He tried running, but it was clear that this time Dream wasn't playing. Forcefully he pinned George between the tree and his own body. His forearm pinned against his chest and a knife pointed at Georges neck. Instinctively George sunk back against the tree, trying to get more distance between him and the sharp metal that dictated his fate.

“Let me go!” He barked, struggling against Dreams weight. His hands grasped at his forearm in an attempt to pull the blade away, sinking his nails into his tough flesh. But Dream didn't seem phased by it.

“You know I can’t do that.” Six words. Dream said six words yet each word was carefully dipped in venom. The tone of his speech was abnormal, different from how he usually speaks. There was no implication that he was teasing George or speaking with the purpose to get a reaction from him.

The chase was over. 

This was Dreams’ way of saying it.

New found desperation tugged at George's vocal cords. He was embarrassed when a begging “Don’t.” Left his pleading lips. He didn’t even recognize his own voice. It was broken and raspy, barely above a whisper.

“Oh yeah? And why not?” Dream scowled. “Give me three good reasons, I’ll wait.” His muscles remained tense as he held George against the tree. It was as if he was waiting for him to admit defeat so he could deliver the finishing blow. 

A feeble whine left George. He knew he wasn't able to fight back, not anymore. His legs refused to move and every breath he took was more painful than the last. All he could think about was the imagery of Dreams’ blade carving its way through his neck. Severing veins which would lead to Georges’ life to seep from the incision. 

“Look at you, you’re nothing.”

George didn’t want to die. If he didn’t care about dying he would have just stayed in the Nether, rotting away alongside everyone else down there. He barely got to live his newly achieved freedom, he wasn’t gonna let go that easily.

His heart was still beating.

“All beaten and bloody, whining at my mercy.”

His eyes flicked up to meet Dreams' mask. Mercy? He calls this mercy?

Whilst Dream continued to taunt George, reciting his murders siqilli, George slowly crept his hand closer to the edge of Dream mask.

“Just give up.” 

In one fluid motion Georges hand shot up, bumping up the bottom of Dream’s mask. 

The mask traveled a quarter of the way up Dreams’ face, just enough for him to see right below the others nose. His eyes locked on the sight he saw, he was unsure if it was the lighting or the truth but under the mask he saw tan skin.

_Is he not Nether born?_

He studied the rest of Dreams' features, not wanting to forget them. Hopefully he could use this information to hold power over Dream. 

He had a smooth jaw line that was accented with stubble along with a faint scatter of freckles. His lips were thin, not paper thin, just normal thin. They parted slightly as he was obviously just gasping, taken aback by the movement.

The most defining feature of his was a scar that went down the left side of his face. He couldn't see where it started as the mask cut it off, but he saw where it ended. It passed though his top lip and ended in the middle of his bottom lip.

_Who was able to get close enough to attack Dream?_

Being able to see part of Dream's face made him feel more human. He was no longer some horror story of a monster killer, he was just a man behind a mask. It brought a weird sense of intimacy--

No, intimacy wasn't the right word. It just felt _weird_ being able to see him.

Time seemed to freeze after he made contact with the mask, however the seconds eventually caught up.

Dream dropped the knife and grasped onto the others' wrists, an angry scowl now visible on his lips. They were frozen like that for a second; George holding onto Dreams’ mask and Dream grabbing Georges’ arm.

_“Oh common now,”_ Dream said in a tone that you'd hear when an adult scolded a child.

George had realized his mistake, but didn’t regret it. It was clear to see Dream was angry and his guard had lowered. George didn’t know how to fight properly, but he knew how to fight dirty. Just as fast as Dream had grabbed onto Georges’ hand, Georges’ knee had shot up. Settling its blow right between Dreams legs. 

A loud disgruntled groan escaped the cloaked man followed by a string of curses. He stumbled back, lips pursed together in.

_“You better fucking run.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: im gonna upload ever 2-3 weeks  
> Me: uploads a month later
> 
> yeah sorry abt that :(  
> -King

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, I hope you enjoyed. I try to upload chapters as fast as I can but I suffer from fatty writers block. The maximum wait time between chapters will be 2 weeks
> 
> I am brand new to writing on ao3, im an ex wattpad writer so i am still vv new to this. Any tips and suggestions are greatly appreciated :)!!! 
> 
> \- King


End file.
